Chapter 2
Lionel Errivo looked out into the rain as his chauffeur navigated the streets of Shanghai on the way to Pudong International airport. He was tired and irritable and the murky weather was not inspiring any uplift in his spirits. He watched the water run down and across the window as the vehicle sped forward. He wished the man would drive faster. Not that he was late for his flight or was in a hurry for any particular reason; he just wanted to be moving, he wanted to be on his way. Well, he didn’t want so much to be on his way as he just wanted to get out of Shanghai. “On his way” meant that he was headed to the city of Los Angeles in the state of California in the United States of America, and he was really not the least bit excited about doing that, as a matter of fact.
He muttered something to himself and the driver glanced at him in the rear-view mirror, but said nothing. Lionel tugged at the beanie he was wearing on his head, took it off and ruffled up his hair. He fiddled with his seat belt, straightened it, checked it, rechecked it. He pulled the collar of his shirt, pulled at the shirt where it went into the waist of his pants, then pinched the seams of both legs and pulled again, tugging his pants towards his shoes. Finally, he sat back, folded his arms across his chest and resumed looking out the window. Then, he reached for his phone.
The car pulled up outside the terminal and he grabbed his bag and reached for the handle before his driver could come around to open the door for him. He remembered, too late, that in China, drivers maintain full control of their car doors at all times. The door was locked. He grunted in annoyance, turned away from and then toward the door again and waited the five seconds or so for the man to release him. He hopped out before the door was fully open. His driver opened the trunk and handed the luggage over to an attendant.
“Thank you,” Errivo said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sir,” the driver responded in his best imitation of an American accent, and bowing slightly. Errivo nodded at the man and turned to follow his luggage into the terminal.
A woman walked past him just as he started to walk into the terminal, brushing him so closely that he had to swerve and swing his body away to avoid having her bump right into him. She turned briefly to glance at him and even seemed to smile a little bit, but he couldn’t be sure. It had happened so very quickly and she was wearing dark glasses, even in this dark, rainy weather so he wasn’t able to see her eyes. He did very clearly see the rich, red hair bouncing out from under her hat, however. He stood and watched her enter the terminal, and the door close itself behind her, before moving forward himself to go check in for his flight to Los Angeles.
Checking in for a flight in China is a very complicated process compared to the United States, and by the time he had completed it, he was even more irritable than he had been all morning. He was so irritable in fact, that he was just done; he had come fully to the end of his tether. He couldn’t even be bothered to feel put out when the announcement came that his flight was delayed. By then, he was sitting in the International Airlines lounge and his response was to get to his feet and head over to the bar.
“What the hell!” he said to himself. “It’s happy hour in L.A. right now. In fact, it’s happy hour last night.”
“Gin and tonic,” he said to the bartender, “one to one; with three lime wedges, please.”
As he was walking back to his seat with his drink, he saw again, the woman who had almost run him over outside. Couldn’t miss her; she was still wearing the coat, in a deep, rich red colour and a felt fedora of the same shade, both several shades darker than her hair. Her black patent leather boots reached right up to the middle of her thigh. She had taken off her sunglasses in the building and he could see her eyes now. They had the appearance of charcoal, dark and deep and shiny. He became aware that he was staring when he realised that she was looking straight at him and was not smiling.
“May I help you?” her eyes seemed to be saying. With attitude.
He looked away and kept walking without acknowledging her unspoken question. When he was seated, he could still see her. Now, she was selecting foods from the buffet. Then, she was selecting magazines from the rack at the entrance to the lounge. Finally, he opened his bag, pulled out his laptop and decided to do some work.
Work did not help his disposition any. Quite the opposite. Opening his spreadsheets and emails was just a reminder of what lay ahead for him. When he landed in Los Angeles, he was going to have to report to his father and the board of directors that the Chinese investment had fallen far short; it was not working out and would have to be scrapped. He had pushed hard for the partnership with the Chinese manufacturers, and he had worked very persistently on reaching agreements and building relationships, but he had, nevertheless, failed. And there was nothing he could do to change that now, he thought. It was done. Over and done with. He’d have to come up with something else. He walked over to the bar and got himself another gin and tonic.
On his way back to his seat, he stopped at the food station and fixed himself a plate of cold cuts, nuts and crackers. When the flight was called more than an hour later, he had not eaten so much as an almond off the plate.